dear "God,"
please remember that my life is not a prime-time drama, that (premature) death and disintegration are plots I tend to tune out, and that I've already been through way too many episodes for far too few seasons. you know what happens to child stars; it's rarely pretty. if it's ok, I'd like to schedule some time to review my contract, and maybe develop something more along the lines of Mister Roger's Neighborhood. let me know how you feel about this at your earliest convenience.
-she who's sort of kidding
*
am I one of those people who responds to grief with constant action? hell, I'm not one of those anything. variety is the spice of life baby; let's see how many different ways we can do this dance: so, yeah. obsessive distraction leading to major back, shoulder, arm, wrist pain. (theory: computer mouse invented by chiropractor in search of job security.) reducing life to computer pinball and quidditch world cup. a million phone calls. me. making a million phone calls. to all the right people for the very wrong reason. and "how are you?" every time is a question with sharp edges that can fly back in my face without one missed beat. how will they be? Jenna has a cat named Hitler, (the moustache was just too similar) and another named for the goddess of new life in death. that's pretty much the happiest statement she made to me. the rest was awful. not awful to make me want to go away from her. but awful to make me wonder if I'm going to have that choice. awful because I can't even find her anymore.
and Tori's sister called to ask what was wrong. talking to sisters. Dixie's sister tells me and I tell Tori's sister and Tori's sister says she'll tell Tori tomorrow, when Tori comes home for spring break. she says, I don't know if I ever met you, and I'm thinking - I remember you coming up once, I think, but it was sort of a "this is my sister, this is everybody" introduction...so I say, I'm not sure; I know I heard about you, and she says I'm sure you did, and I want to tell her I heard good things, but really I just heard sad things that were as little her fault as they were Tori's. and when she asks me how I am, I'm touched, and I answer, and I don't even think until afterward that I could ask her how she is. I mean, she has this illness, too, and I do care how she's doing. care. care. take care. I've taken so much care, I have a surplus. and it's ok that I didn't think to ask her; my head's in knots... and tomorrow or soon after, Tori will probably call me and we'll talk for the first time since I discharged, and I'll probably be really glad to talk with her, and put it in motion to have her in my life a little more.
tracked down Brittany through a crazy amount of phone calls. of everyone, she lives the closest to me. 20 minutes actually, and still we haven't seen each other in all this time. she says she's doing well, and I believe her; she's making choices I wouldn't make, but then she always did... and she doesn't sound sick. she has a ten-month-old named Blake. it turns out, for her, there really was a cure-all, as far as the eating disorder goes. she found out she was going to have the baby, and she was done. now, she has other hardships, and I do my best to explain how it is I'm still in therapy and still "struggling" when I haven't purged in 2.5+ years... and how right now I'm still working on the issues behind the ed, but the ed isn't gone, even though it's not active, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. I'm doing well, well, I was doing well, but obviously with this I'm a little...ugh...and then, I mean I'm doing well with the eating disorder and stuff, things aren't like they were two years ago or anything (no, I mean I'm *completely* abstinent) but I won't tell you I don't have one because it waits in the wings for that cue. ...how are you?
Brittany's doing well and has a son named Blake; she wants to put him in a stroller and take the three of us to the zoo. Jenna's physical health is improving, and people are keeping track of the scary physical things remaining from the overdose and the eating disorder. I cried for forever after I talked to her, and then later, I talked about it and cried again. Tori's doing well; her sister says so. I envy Tori having a sister to tell her. All these people I've called, even if they haven't been told in person which is always best...they've heard it from someone who loves them. And me? I'm just the beginning of it all. I'm the messenger, and I want that post because it's bringing people back into my life that I had no courage to call a week ago... But I'm also just about exhausted. Time to rest. Maybe time to delegate.
Oshiana has a message from me; that is, if her phone number's the same as it was two years ago, which no one's is. I don't have a number for Rae but Oshiana might. Abby definitely would, but I don't think I have an accurate number for Abby. Unless it's her parent's home. But, no, if it were her parents' number that I had, it would be her parents' address, and the Christmas card I sent her would not have been returned. I still need to tell Silje. I need to write Jenny and Katia, possibly Chelsea. Yes, probably Chelsea. I have a number for Christy, but I might toss that one to Sara or someone; I don't feel like I know her well enough to guess if she'd want to know... The other calls feel weird because they're out of the blue, but I know these people. These voices are so familiar. Talked with Rosie tonight until I was sweating (I'd had caffeine again, though, so...) ... just the best conversation, except for the reason behind it. She programmed my number into her phone. I said, "So, I guess, that means you don't mind if I call you again?" and I felt like my chest had opened up and let out sunshine and butterflies. "You mean it? I'm not a pest?" I need to write more about the talk we had. She's so damn cool. And she's so honest about everything, and so *right*... She's frank but she's integrous but she's compassionate but she's through with bullshitting - herself or anyone else. I admired her so much at Rogers, and I still do now. She's an amazing example, and I don't mean that to pressure her onto a pedastal; she says I've really changed, and I realize that when she left, I was nowhere near who I am now. I was nowhere near who I was when I left. I was still so far gone, and so she's just getting to know me, and now it's possible for us to have a relationship, where we realize how well we work, which we couldn't quite do before. Godds, she's awesome.
And I need to talk more about what went down with Jenna. And Sara. And call Sara back to tell her, please cease and desist trying to get Dave's number. She thought she could do it no problem, which I thought was great, but it's turned into a more difficult problem than she thought, and apparently Dave has been contacted, given misinformation, and not agreed to let them hand me his contact info. (An address. What I wanted was an address. The phone number only came up because I was going to make sure he knew about Dixie. Now that I know someone told him, the phone is entirely irrelevent. What good am I at phones anyway?) Sara's still trying, but it just looks shady, and I don't think it's a good idea to sneak around and try to get this information when there's no need to be sneaky. This really isn't underhanded. Dave's worried that I wanted to talk to him about Dixie as opposed to talking to someone here, which is all wrong. I wanted his address to write him the letters, and I wanted to let him know about Dixie in a more humane matter than a letter... I think I also wanted to be the one to tell him, but I really do believe (this once) that it might be better that I didn't... I just need, need, need him to understand what I'm really asking for so that he can really give it to me. And in the meantime, I need to not look like a stalker because I've tried to get this information through Sara, through Sarah, through my mom, and so forth. I need it to look on-the-level because it is. It's totally clean.
I have a very good therapist who I can talk to without long-distance charges and I'm still riding on the darlin' of some months ago. So, just, he has to understand. Next step: The Big Move. Dr. R contacts him or Dr. R contacts "his people" and Dave contacts Dr. R. They talk; Dave is reminded that I am doing well, using my treatment team here and have no intention of trying to use or abuse him, I understand our therapeutic relationship is no longer existent, and any other relationship is weird and maybe worrisome, but I'm not a stalker, and really all I want is what I've had for the past 2+ years. Ok?
...I started crying telling my mom this. She says the doctor will fix it all. I hope so. The doctor has been out sick for two days. He might cancel tomorrow. And if I throw myself onto his doorstep, he probably won't make as good a case for, "really, she's not the stalking type" even if he did find the possibility of someone mistaking me for the stalking type laughable. I told her more about my Rogers feelings than I have in a long time. The most I've told her without being in a blind rage ever. About how I'm just trying to get through not seeing and talking to them the way that I could before. How I'm just trying to survive on calls and e-mails and letters, and I need this... The doctor will make it better, she says. I don't believe her. Bette was sure she could convince Judie to see me again. It's the only example I can think of, but I know there are others. Sara was convinced getting Dave's info would be no problem. People assure me of all these things, and I know having the m.d. tacked onto your name works like a key in about a million ways, but what if it's not fit for this door? I'm wearing a t-shirt. It barely has sleeves, and this is the last plan I have up them.
But I've managed Sara, Brea, Stacy, Rosie, Sara, ...Dixie..., Silje, Katia...goodness, I can't even quite remember everyone when I go to list the Rogers people back in my life now. So. I managed to track Sara, who left Rogers, moved to the coast, went back to school, and didn't leave me anything more than her name. Maybe this one thing won't have to be so hard.
...and just in case love is listening...rather because I know it always is...what I said earlier about my life as a bad tv show, all these thoughts I've had about how this is harder than anything on Fear Factor or Survivor or any of those shows I've long since chosen not to view... I know you know that. I know that this is bigger than tv; this is about who I'm going to be, and this isn't how you wanted it to go. because you're love. because I don't believe in predestination, even though there are reasons to be found in everything; I don't believe that someone up in the sky (or anywhere else) made or let this happen. I only yell at you because there's no one else to yell at. Ed. But Ed's just a personification of nothing. And can I really be angry at eating disorders? - when I know that they form out of agonizing situations that are different for every sufferer, that they're an attempt at survival, not ok, and not chosen... Or should I be mad at all those different factors, forces, that somehow collide to create this? Or the way I love for making it hurt so badly?
Or should I just believe in your standard, plan-having, death-choosing, ruler-type God, and be pissed as hell at him...? I let the concept hang around, like an inflatable punching bag standing in for the real face. There is no face. There is no one to go after. Socially, there's no stopping it. People right now are starting to have eating disorders, and having them for years, and dying from them. Right now people are in ICU, tearing kleenexes and telling bad jokes. I can't stop that. So I do what I can; I work at me, and I understand that's all I can do...that if I guilt myself over what I haven't done, I'll only incapacitate myself further. But. It's not enough. I'm doing everything I can, but not enough's being done. This wasn't supposed to happen. And it did. And I'll live with it, but it will never be ok. I won't ever understand why. Godd could descend from the heavens, show me the plan, give me the details, and I'd still shake my head. I'm done taking in new information. Decisions on this matter are closed, the gavel banged.
Girls are not supposed to die on March 4th, after fighting like hell, when their 20th birthday would have been just one month later - on 04/04/04. And we're not supposed to be left behind. My mom came to me tonight with some worry about my youth and how I can't handle these things the way older people do. I looked at her, hoping she'd see my old eyes, but she started explaining. And I said, "I know. That's the thing about going through this. Regardless of age. You just learn." I edited the old "life sucks and then you die" to the more appropriate "people die and then life sucks." Grief sucks. But Godd, I'd only exchange it for her life. I couldn't give up the grief. Imagine all of this without ever feeling anything. Imagine all of that energy not being cried and screamed, spoken and written, seethed and slept out. I can't.
so, mr-made-up-personified-Ed: you're wasting your time with me. I'm going to continue kicking you away, and everytime you start to seep in at the edges, I will kick you back again. you murdered my roommates. my roommates. both of them. you killed them, and you gave the people I love hell, and what's more, you violated my life. you put all sorts of dark and violent marks on it, and I won't stand for it. if you think you can follow this murder with a string of grief- and guilt-driven relapses or suicides you're wrong. because I'll be damned if I don't do everything in my power to keep the count at two. and I know well that the only thing in my power is my own journey, to some extent. I can't cure my own life with a flipped switch, and I certainly can't do that for anyone else. but you can just quit the bullshit. I've heard it before. and if you think those lines are going to work all of a sudden after failing for years, you're wrong. and I know you'll come up with new ones; I don't doubt that at all. but if you wanted to, if you were going to give up a battle you won't ever win, you would save yourself the time and energy. but go ahead. waste it on me. wear yourself out trying to brainwash me again. leave the rest of the world alone.
but he's not a person and he's not one anything and he's never going to get tired. so in that case, I'd like to be left alone, too. we've discussed this before, love. my pain quota. the amount of tragedies endured in a lifetime. I don't want extra credit, understand? and I don't want to think it's this hard for other people. I want to believe it's worse for me than for the average person. because this shouldn't be the norm. it's awful enough being the minority.
I wrote this for her candle today... It's easy to verify what happened, but it could still take them a few months to post it: Dixie, you lit up the lives of everyone who knew you. We will always remember your frank discussions of anything and everything in that fabulous Kentucky accent with all your personal spark. We are grateful to you for the fight you put up against this illness and will remember always that your body gave out long before your spirit was willing to call it quits. Know that we hold onto you, even now, and please hold onto us. Love always, dear Rogers sister.
They wanted me to choose a relationship. Choices such as - "close friend" and "knew them in treatment." That one part (and only that) of the form pissed me off... Because I said Rogers sister in my note. But damnit if I wasn't going to choose "close friend." If I weren't worried about making it all impossible for them to reject on validity grounds, I would have put family, and given them my real name as opposed to my legal one. But whatever. Close friend. Sister. My love is not defined by drop-down menus... and has it really been six months since St. Patrick's Day ... it's what, a year now since my last appointment with the doc? Yeah, I thought so. Yeah, it's funny (supposedly) how the hours change after a phone call like that on Tuesday. It's funny (supposedly), but I'm not laughing.
Rosie said, it's great ...but I think it's what gets you into trouble: you care about people so much. Well, that about summarizes it, don't you think? Damn. Harriet didn't understand that after four months of two appointments per week. Yep. And guess what girl, I care about you, too. I rival superglue. And even Jenna will have to walk away. She will have to move, and she will have to stop me from following her. Until then, I won't let go of it. Whether she wants it or not. It isn't her choice; it's mine. And what's more, I don't trust that her mouth is telling me what she really wants and needs. When she can come to me with her own eyes and tell me to go, I will. Until then, Velcro's feeling threatened. My relationship's with her, and I'm waiting for her word.
I just hope it comes... Her voice that is, not the directive to leave. I just hope two is two too many keeps the universe from taking anyone else. I just need it to be done.
~me